


the sight of falling snow, the memories it brings

by Zartbitterpoetin



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christmas, Complicated Relationships, District Four, Family, Family Dynamics, Finnick Odair Lives, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hugs, Intergenerational conflict, Johanna is the best aunt, Language, Low German, Midwinter, Siblings, Struggling with Identity, The Capitol (Hunger Games), Trauma, University, War, Winter Solstice, but also not because it's panem and they don't have christmas, but not in the way you might think, inherited trauma, low saxon, past trauma, plattdüütsch, so it's just, tired history student James Odair-Cresta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:27:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28798359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zartbitterpoetin/pseuds/Zartbitterpoetin
Summary: James Cresta-Odair comes home for the holidays, struggling with his identity and the echoes of the past.A not-christmas! fanfic about language, family and home.
Relationships: Annie Cresta & Annie and Finnick's Son, Annie Cresta/Finnick Odair, Annie and Finnick's Son & Finnick Odair, Annie and Finnick's Son & Johanna Mason, Annie and Finnick's son & Original Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	the sight of falling snow, the memories it brings

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what this is.  
> Like, it's a christmas fic, but also not? Listen, somehow I've become attached to my stupid son James Cresta-Odair while writing "What The Water Gave Me" even though he is barely in there? So I wrote this.  
> This fic is in the same universe as "How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful" but you don't need to know anything about it besides the fact that Finnick survived and had two more children with Annie.  
> The title is a line from "December Prayer" by Idina Menzel.  
> Also, they speak low german or "plattdüütsch" in this because I like it and it fits. Low german is mostly spoken on the coast of Germany, the Netherlands and a small part of the Danish coast. It's also a recognized minority language in Mexico, Bolivia and Paraguay. It has about 6.7 native speakers world-wide, and up to 10 million second-language speakers. I don't speak it, so if I made any mistakes please tell me!  
> This is really self-indulgent (if you couldn't tell that by now) but I'm still putting it out there because why not?  
> Have a nice day y'all

Every year, around midwinter, the Capitol transforms. When he first arrived here, he used to mourn the fact that he couldn’t see the stars anymore because the city was too bright, but the lights that illuminate the city every winter have their own, celestial beauty. They paint the night golden, and chase his darker thoughts away, make him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Music fills the streets, and horribly sweet movies play on screens everywhere, while people hurry along to spent as little time as possible out in the cold.

In the summer, the weather here is a blessing, the view breathtaking, the breeze from the nearby mountains a relieve, but in the winter, these blessings become a cold curse. Up here, the cold winds blow without mercy though the mountain peaks, creating haunting tunes, and the snow often piles meters high, hindering the trains and cars from moving. Winter in the Capitol hurts, but he loves it nevertheless, or maybe even because of this.

The wealthier citizens and the tourists often flee the Capitol in these months, escaping to warmer and softer parts of the country while the rest stays and huddles closer together.

Although James loves walking through the streets in winter, he doesn’t have time to dwell on the pretty sights right now, because he is late for class. Which is bad, especially because he is the one supposed to be teaching. Although he isn’t a professor (yet), he helps with lectures for the younger students, and even holds his own lectures from time to time. Like he is supposed to do right now.

He walks even faster, almost running, and careful not to slip on the ice that has already formed again on the pavement.

The _National University of Panem_ is the biggest University in Panem. Before the war, it didn’t really have competition either, just the research centers and the military academies. But the new education program has promotee the development of universities in Districts Five and Six, as well as a radical reconstruction of the university in Two, and of course the Capitol university itself.  
Like most of the Capitol, the university didn’t survive the war unscathed. A lot of the campus buildings were damaged or completely destroyed and had to be rebuild. They are located in the _Vicus Astra_ , which is why most people just call the University the _Vias_. James thinks that’s a stupid name but sadly nobody asked him for his opinion.

He takes one last turn and comes to a stop in front of the main history facility building. The beautiful arches are decorated with green twigs and cherryberries, mutated plants that James absolutely loves. Berries that taste like Cherries, alright! What’s better than that?

The heavy wooden doors creak as he pushes them open, and a glance at the clock in the entrance hall tells him that he is definitely too late. He curses under his breath, and sprints to his classroom.

“I’m so sorry guys,” he says as he enters the lecture hall, already removing his old, navy blue mantle and the thick red scarf, and his heavy, but very fluffy hat.  
With practiced motions he opens his bag and then his presentation. He doesn’t really have to think about lecturing, it’s as easy as breathing to him. It’s the last lesson before the holidays and he can feel the strange atmosphere, the exited boredom, so he hurries up a bit so they can get all get home earlier.

Before he can make his way out too, a small group of students approaches him. He has seen them around before. Fist and second years, most of them studying humanities too.

“Can I help you?” he asks.

“Yeah. You know about the whole Smithers-thing, don’t you?”, the oldest boy says immediately. Yeah. James knows about that. The whole university knows about that. Flavius Smithers is a professor for mathematics. A good one too. He also was a Snow-supporter and fan of killing children for fun, which is, _not good_.

“Yeah,” he says. “What about him?” “Well, some of the other students are trying to finally get that pig into court for all the shit he has done under Snow.”

“Ah,” James says and nothing more.

“So we were wondering if you could support us? You have good connections to the professors and science people and stuff like that. Everyone knows that you’re gonna be a professor someday, so your word would have lot of weight.”

“Yeah, I can put in a word for you with Prof. Kralt, but I can’t promise you anything, guys.” He flashes them an apologetic smile while gathering his things. Then he continues “Maybe you’re already doing this but try collaborating with some of the campus clubs. The more people you can get behind this, the better. And maybe also try involving local politics. Lamira Sheyhane could help you.”

James doesn’t say that he thinks it’s useless. People like Smithers seldom get punished. There are still a lot of people from the old regime in the government, in the courts and in the, well, universities, and they only make the wheels of change turn even slower.

“Thank you”, Conan says.

“Of course. I completely agree with you about Smithers. Although he isn’t the only one who-“

“Yeah, we know,” the boy interrupts him, not unkindly. They both grimace at each other and the whole moment would be kind of funny if the subject wasn’t so serious. As it is, it’s just… awkward.

“I have to go now, but you can write me any time,” he says, and storms out of the door. Then he stops for a moment, realizes that that was probably pretty rude and comes back in.

“It’s good, what you guys are doing. Tell Lamira that I send you, she’ll definitely help you. See you next year, guys!” he calls and then storms out again. He’s already late.

Tammy Lankman is one year older than him, her parents are both from district Ten, she is currently studying Literature and Politics, and she also happens to be one of his closest friends. And right now, she is pretty pissed because James is late. Again.  
It’s their last meeting before he’ll leave the city to visit his family. He’s already said goodbye to Hilde, Hachmed and Ina, and told his other friends that he wouldn’t be around for a week or two.

“You’re late,” Tammy greets him, arms crossed. They have met in one of their usual places – a lovely restaurant that specializes in food from Ten – James vaguely remembers Tammy telling him that her parents even know the owners. He stumbles out a vague apology involving late trains and the snow. She doesn’t look like she believes him for one second, which, fair enough. He wouldn’t either. But she lets it slide, reminding him again why he likes her so much. She has already ordered for them – James always eats one of the same three meals, he is a picky eater, what can he say, and she knows his orders by heart.

Second reason why she is one of his favourite people of all time.

They settle down and chat about this and that, meaningless stuff. James can tell she is giddy, hiding something. His great deductive abilities lead him to believe that this secret thing is probably a midwinter present. How exciting!

And… he is right. She got him a book by Peggy Crux, a district historian, doing spectacular historical research, mostly on the first two centuries after the first rebellion, the “dark days”. She is also one of his favourite professors. Still pretty young, ten years older than him, and very nice.

“Man, that’s awesome! Thank you!” he says, smiling at her. “You know, her lectures are very thought-out and engaging, she explains everything well and she is really patient but also doesn’t put up with any bullshit. Especially not from her colleagues.”

Her face darkens at that - they both know, which colleagues he means. The people like Smithers. Jones, Chase and the likes.

“They are trying to evict him. Smithers, I mean,” he tells her, calmly.

“I know. Maybe that’ll convince your folks – or mine, for that matter, that the Capitol isn’t so bad,” she jokes. Her accent thickens every time she is here, and despite the serious subject he smiles. She sounds cute like this.

“I don’t think they can be convinced of that. They are so backwards and blind and- and _stubborn_!” he says. He didn’t mean for it to come out this angry and bitter but now it stands in the room between them. “James,” she says. “You have to understand them too.” He sighs but doesn’t answer. The food arrives, and they talk about different things. He gives her his present, a copy of "Flying High" by Jemma Krawolni. She almost knocks over the table from excitement so, well, that was a successful present. Only when they say goodbye, she becomes serious again.

“You can be very stubborn too, you know? And now go enjoy your trip. Love ya,” she throws at him, and then she is gone. “I love you too!” he calls after her, shaking his head fondly.

On the way home to his place, he finally gathers up enough courage to call home. His mother answers. That means she doesn’t have a bad day, which is good, he reminds himself. Even if he would have rather talked to Holly or Aunt Jo.

“Cresta-Odair,” she says. She always says it with that certain tone, like she can’t imagine those names not belonging together.

“Hey Ma,” he says. He hears a stifle a small squeal and can’t keep from smiling. His mother’s always been like this, extremely open with her emotions, to the point of making people uncomfortable.

“James! Good to hear you. When will you be coming home this year?” she asks, straight to the point like usual.

“I don’t know yet. Probably around tomorrow evening?” He will have to take the early morning train.

“Oh, I thought you’d arrive today?” She sounds concerned, and a bit sad, and he almost feels sorry for staying. Almost.

“Well, there was so much stuff still left to do here,” he says, and hopes that she doesn’t demand to know what stuff exactly.

“Of course, of course, I’m glad you can make it at all. Kira and Holly are already here, and we all miss you so much!”

“I miss you too,” he says. “See you soon.”

District Four is very different from the Capitol. In the south, its much warmer, with an almost tropical flair. But in the northern part, where his parents live, it gets almost as cold as in the Capitol.

 _Noordlucht_ is the biggest town in the north, with around 30,000 habitants, and it also happens to be the place where James grew up. Most of the houses were build anew after the war, now hugging the small, winding streets and alleyways. The town is right next to the ocean, but unlike the typical tourist areas, it doesn’t have long beaches full of soft sand.

Instead, the shore mostly consists of high, ragged cliffs and coarse, stony beaches, and the stench of fish and saltwater and seaweed is overwhelming. Most of his childhood friends have moved away but his whole family still lives here. His sisters are the ones who greet him at the train station, and he is surprised how much they’ve changed since last time.

Holly is now working at the Centre for Culture and Arts here in Four, and Kira now has blue hair and a nose ring. He tries to ask what she is doing right now but doesn’t really understand her answer. When he looks helplessly to Holly she just shrugs. Right. That’s just how Kira is.

On their way their house, James realizes that he did kind of miss this after all.

District Four is like the ocean, always shifting and changing, but staying the same under everything else. He feels like suffocating if he stays here for too long, prefers the anonymity of the big city over the smothering tight-nit community of his home. But he also can’t stay away for too long, and not just because his family lives here. From time to time he will get this ache, deep in his chest, as if the ocean calls him home, and he follows the call. His childhood home stands on one of the big cliffs, overlooking both the town and the ocean, and as always, his heart makes a tiny jump when he first sees the house again.

Aunt Jo is the first to greet him, with a punch on the shoulder and a “Your folks been worried about you.” Well. Shit.

His parents are in the kitchen, preparing the meal for the day. When they see him, his father drops everything and rushes towards him, arms spread wide.

“James, _mien Jung_. How are you?” Before he can even answer, his father continues talking, a nervous habit, as James knows.

“Pa, I’m alright, I swear!” he says with a chuckle, gently removing himself from the embrace. He loves his father, but sometimes he can be a bit… much.

“I can help you with the food,” James says, but his father ushers him away.

“No, no, you are a guest. Relax, and catch up with the others. Mama and I will prepare dinner. You can put your bags in your old room, _lütt Uul_.” At the familiar nickname, James freezes up. It’s been ages since he heard it last.

“Pa, I’m not a kid anymore!”, he says, exasperated. “You will always be our kid,” his mother, who has now abandoned the oven as well, says. She pulls him into a hug. “Welcome home.”

It's strange. The rhythm of the people here is so completely different from the Capitol. It’s slower, but also not. It’s hard to describe and James has never been very good with words, not like his parents or Aunt Sally or Holly. It must be something in the water, he muses, that produces so many great storytellers in Four.

He unpacks and soon starts helping around the house, putting up the last decorations, until he is forbidden from helping. Then he strolls through town, visiting the local shops and buying the last presents for his family members. He calls his friends and spends a whole hour at the beach, doing nothing. It’s a nice change of pace.

The main festivities two days later go well, with his whole family, his aunts and uncles and his countless cousins, gathering at his grandfather’s home. It’s a bit annoying and awkward, but in a nice way.

But the longer he is there, the more things happen that seriously bother him. It’s mostly little comments here and there. About his studies, about the way he dresses now, about his professors. They complain about his accent, and he grits his teeth and smiles through it. But he can tell that they are disappointed in him and he doesn’t know what he did wrong.

And it’s not like they don’t annoy him too. As a kid he learned _plattdüütsch_ , the native tongue of Four, from his parents, just like his sisters, but he doesn’t speak it, unlike the rest of his family. It bothers him more than it should, really, makes him feel like an outsider even more. He doesn’t know about their new neighbors, doesn’t know what happens here anymore, most of the people he loves live somewhere else now and now he can’t even speak _platt_.

This isn’t really his home anymore.

He finally snaps after his family hasn’t spoken a word in English for at least an hour. Usually, they make in afford for Aunt Jo, but she is out doing who knows what and so James is stuck here, alone, with his family.

“Can you maybe try speaking English?”, he finally grits out.

“You,” his mother says, “have forgotten where you come from. _Wi snackt as wi wüllen_ , James.”

“We should be trying to _unite_ the districts, not divide them further by things like this.” In theory, he knows about the importance of different cultures and languages, knows about the strength that lies in diversity, but right now, he just wants to not feel like a stranger in his own family.

“You sound like someone from the Capitol,” his mother sneers.

“I live in the Capitol,” he says, flatly.

“You are from Four, _dat is dien Heimaad. Nich de Capitol_ ,” his mother says, her voice hard.

“I’ve been living there for years, my friends are there, I study there, I love that city.”

“Well, it doesn’t love you back!”, his father says loudly, and there is something cold and hard in his eyes.

“I know that. A place can’t love. But you – you-“ he struggles for words, “you still think I will come back here, to Four. I won’t!”

The words tumble out of his mouth and his family stares at him, clearly shocked. “Listen, I love you all, and I will come visit often but the Capitol is my home now,” he tries to explain, but his mother locks her jaw and her eyes get angry and he knows that he seriously hurt her. His sisters don’t seem very shocked, mostly sneaking him supportive glance. They knew about this already, after all. His father stands up from the table.

“Let’s take a walk, James,” he says.

The cold, harsh wind is strong and the waves crash against the shore loudly, the world mirroring his inner turmoil. It’s late in the evening, not a cloud in the sky and there aren’t many people outside anymore. He and his father walk silently along the shore.

“Flavius Smithers is one of the Professors at your university,” his father says finally.

“I know.”

“Do you know what he did? How much suffering he and people like him caused?”

“Yes. I also know that he isn’t the only one that still holds a position of power despite what they did under Snow. I’m not blind or dumb or naïve,” he defends himself.

“I never claimed that. But you also don’t really understand. You can’t. You think you are removed from history; you aren’t.”

“Pa, I study history, I know how it still impacts us.”

“That’s not what I mean, James!” His father sounds upset and frustrated and suddenly James understands that this more than an ability to let go of the past. There is something deeper here, and he is going to find out, what it is.

“Then what do you mean? Explain it to me!”

“You think they see you as equal. They don’t. Your professors and the Capitol elite and those old fucks who somehow clung so tight to their power that we couldn’t remove them, they don’t even see you as human. Not only you specifically, but also all the other District kids.”

“Pa, we needed those people. You couldn’t just replace everyone, or you would have created an power vacuum and- “James stops. His father knows all of that.

“You really think I have forgotten all of your lessons, don’t you? I know about the shitty people still living in their gigantic mansions and getting richer by the minute while paying their workers a minimum wage. I know about the people hungry for power, people who abuse their power. But I also know that there are many people who are trying to expose them, to bring them to justice.”

“The Capitol corrupts everyone eventually,” his father says.

“Pa, I promise you, it doesn’t. Not anymore, at least. And you know that, or you wouldn’t have stayed in contact with some of your friends there. What are you afraid of?”

“I just want to protect you. I can’t protect you when you are there. And I don’t want you to forget your _heimaad_.” Oh. His parents _are_ disappointed. They think they couldn’t protect him. They think he lost his way.

“I won’t. But I also can’t stay here.”

“See, that I just don’t understand. Children of Four always return. How can you prefer that hellish city to this?” he says, gesturing towards the night sky. “You don’t see the stars there.”

“You don’t,” James agrees. “But the city has changed, Pa. And so have I.”

“I know.”

There isn’t much they can say to each other after that, James thinks. But he also can’t leave it at that.

“You don’t like to talk about it, but I know how much they hurt Mama and you. And that can never be forgiven. But the people that did this, they will never have that power again.”

His father stays silent for a long time.

“But it will always have happened. It isn’t really in the past.”

At first, James wants to deny this, claim that all of that bad history is behind them now, but that isn’t true. He thinks of all the father- and motherless children he knew growing up, thinks about playing in ruins, thinks about when he was just a kid, not older than eight and his parents both didn’t get up in the morning and he dressed his sisters and made a meal for them and went to tell Aunt Sally about his parents. It didn’t happen often, but it happened sometimes, and often enough that he knew what to do.  
He knows that it’s not his parent’s fault, that they tried their best but sometimes things like that bother him, just a little.

So, his father is right – he has been viewing himself as separate from the past when he really, really isn’t.

“You’re right,” he admits. “When am I not, _lütt Uul_?” his father replies with a laugh, and he looks mischievous and very young, suddenly. It strikes James that his father was his age, when he fought in the war, when he became a father. At his age, his father had already been a victor for a decade.

“What was it like?” he asks before he can stop himself.

“The Capitol? Back then, you mean?”, his father asks in return.

“Yes.”

His father’s face closes off.

For a moment, James worries that he won’t respond at all, too trapped in his own memories. Mama has never spoken about the past because of that; she tells stories instead.

But his father sat down with each of his children, when they were twelve years old and first learning about the Games and the war in school, and he told them: “Ask me anything you want to know.” And James did. He knows that Kira didn’t want to know more than she had to, that it was enough to know that her parents had suffered and there had been a war and that she would have been old enough to be sent to die.But that hadn’t been enough for James. He wanted to know exactly what had happened how and why. And his father didn’t hold back, answered everything truthfully and James had had nightmares for weeks. In hindsight, James knows that his father still omitted some things, softened them up or only gave vague answers while still telling the truth. He’s glad for that now, even if he wouldn’t have understood it then.

His father pulls himself out of his memories and sighs deeply. “It was bad. It was just –“he breaks off with another sigh.

“Everything was false there. Nothing real, everything artificial.” He pauses, struggling for words again. “They took everything from us. From me. And still they wanted more. It was like we belonged to that damn City.”

He shudders, and it could be because of the cold but –

James knows his father.

Slowly, giving him the chance to draw away, he wraps his arms around his Papa. Finnick hugs him back tight.

When they get back, his father has a long talk with his mother, and after that, she still seems sad but now in a normal protective-parent kind of way. She even asks him to explain the book he is currently reading (the one by Peggy Crux, Tammy really knows him to well) to her, and seems genuinely interested. She also recommends further reading, and oh, _right_ , sometimes James forgets that his Mama loves stuff like that too.

She just really hates the Capitol.

Holly plays a bit on her guitar (she gets better every year) and she and his father sing some shanties and old songs and stuff like that. Oh, and also horribly cheesy love songs. They make him cringe internally, but his mother loves these ballades and he still hasn’t figured out if she genuinely likes them or just finds them extremely funny, so he’ll keep his mouth shut about it.

They stay up late in the living room, and when he finally gets ready for bed it’s strange, the nostalgic familiarity of it all. His room has lost a lot of his personality, but he still thinks of it as his room so, you know. Pieces of him are still here. His old calendars, the movie posters, small stuff like that.

Holly sneaks into his room later. She did that often when they were younger, just to talk to him. He’s only half dressed, and his hair is still wet from the shower, but Holly doesn’t care. His family never had a problem with nudity. Hell, the whole District has no problems with that.

“James,” she sighs. “Why are you so stubborn and stupid?” “Why can’t they accept me for who I am?” he asks in return. “They are trying to.” She is right. Holly usually is, although James would never admit it. “But you should try to show them that you still remember and care for your origins. And don’t snap at them for speaking _platt_. You know that minority languages and any signs of deviation from the Capitol were forbidden under Snow. And now you come along and tell them exactly what the old government told them about their language and culture.”

“Yeah, guess I fucked up there,” he admits. “I already talked with Papa, by the way, before you say something. It’s just – I still feel like I don’t belong here anymore and you all not speaking English just drove that point home.” It hurts to speak those words aloud.

“James. There is a difference between having another home now, and not belonging to the family anymore,” she chastises him. “You’ll always be a part of our family. Look at Aunt Johanna. She doesn’t spend the majority of her time here either, and she still belongs to us.”

She hugs him, and then she says: “ _Du blievst ümmer Deel vun uns Familie_.” He rolls his eyes at her but hugs her back.

The next days are much more peaceful. James and his parents seem to have come to an understanding, even if his parents are still worried about him and disapprove of his choice to stay in the Capitol. One day, his mother even pulls him aside and gifts him a book she bound herself, one of his favorite stories as a child. Of course, it is the one with the owl in it.

“I love you, _lütt Uul_ ,” she tells him and smiles with her eyes, and he grumbles but smiles back.

But also, he starts missing the Capitol again. Especially the people there. Hilde regularly sends him stupid pictures of her in front of the ugliest places she can find and he loves it. He calls Tammy like once a day, they mostly talk about stupid and funny shit, but he also tells her about some of the problems with his family. Hachmed has even more cousins than James – seriously, he is related to half of district Five, and he seems to have a new story about each of them every day.  
Even Ina sends him memes from time to time and his group chats keep exploding. He misses them all, misses the chaos and life of the Capitol. Four is so silent and calm all the time – it get’s boring fast.

Which isn’t to say he doesn’t need this peaceful escape sometimes. He likes catching up with family members, acquaintances and the few childhood friends who stayed here. He likes _Noordlucht_ itself, with its charming nooks, the small houses, the marketplace, the joyful atmosphere.

Kira is already on her way back to _Wittstrand_ , where she apparently lives now. She doesn’t like the cold at all and _Wittstrand_ is farther in the south. Holly lives in _Noordluch_ t anyway, so she’ll be around. She was always the closest with their parents, with the whole family really. She is a lot like Aunt Sally in that regard (although they also share a lot of other similarities.) It’s scary how similar they are to each other, really.

On a slow day in the strange time where the old and the new year meet, he joins Aunt Jo in the backyard, where she is smoking and looking out at the ocean. Sometimes, she still seems afraid of it. James doesn’t think it will ever go away, that fear. He wishes he could understand her better, understand all of them better.

As a greeting, Jo offers him a smoke, even lights it for him. He started smoking to spite his parents, but now it’s a habit. Well, everyone needs flaws, James supposes.

His Aunt is a fabulous woman. She is all hard edges and mean looks and he loves her a lot. She doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t expect anything from him. She was the only one who supported his decision to move to the Capitol, if maybe for the wrong reasons. Said if he wanted to crash and burn he should do it. Should go ahead and burn his life down.

Classic Jo.

“Why are you still here? Even your sisters are already gone. Well, Holly is around all the time anyway, but she is strange, that girl.” James has to snort at that. Usually, people think that Kira is the weird sibling but nope, he totally agrees that Holly is much stranger.

He shrugs his shoulders. “Felt kind of guilty, didn’t you?” she asks. Again, he shrugs, taking a pull at the cigarette. “Maybe I stayed here to enjoy your company for a bit longer,” he teases her.

“Naww, thanks kid. Such love for your old auntie. Could show your parents some love instead” Sarcasm is tripping from her mouth like poison but he just laughs. Jo is genuinely fucking funny, okay?

Oh, and also, she taught him the best swear words, so, bonus points to her.

“Oh, bugger off, Jo.” And then he stares out at the ocean too. Big and scary and beautiful.

“How do you do it? Come here, when the ocean is right in front of you, I mean.”

“I just fucking do it. Not like it’s only the water that triggers me, anyway. Trauma is complex, they tell me. And the Capitol knew a lot of ways to torture people that didn’t involve water.”

He flinches at her words. He has heard worse, of course, but he still can’t help it. Aunt Jo was always like that, blunt and mean. Most of the time, he appreciates it.

“I think what you really want to know is, if you can still love something that you hate. And the answer should be obvious,” she says and gestures around her.

“You should call more often,” she tells him and goes back in the house without another word.

He calls Tammy later that day.

“The Capitol can’t hurt me or us anymore, right? So why can’t I love that city unconditionally?” _she_ asks _him_. Apparently, she has had a similar conversation with her parents.

“Man, if I knew that,” he tells her.

“Maybe… you know, in that book you gave me, the one by Crux, she talks about the cycle of abuse and I was thinking, you know, what if that’s exactly what our generation is dealing with right now. I mean, obviously trauma and abuse are different things and we both have pretty great parents, so don’t get me wrong, but I guess what I’m saying is-“

He sighs, at a loss for words.

“What if the war is in our blood? Trauma can be inherited too,” she says.

“Exactly!”

“Wow, that, that actually would explain a lot of things. Like your abandonment issues or my trust issues.” He wants to argue that he doesn’t have any abandonment issues but also, he calls all of his friends at least once a week because he is afraid they’ll leave him otherwise, so…

“Yeah. Because or parents had to adopt certain behaviors to survive somehow and, without meaning to, they’ve given them to us too. And it’s not just that. We grew up in ruins and with the majority of the people around us traumatized, trying to somehow make it all work nevertheless.”

For the first time he really invites that whole line of thought in. Because there are also economic differences between people born in the Capitol and people born in the districts, even after over two decades. People from outside the Capitol are still poorer, get worse employment, have lower life expectancies and less access to clean water. He knew all of that, in theory, but he also knew that they were working on that, that it got better and better each year. But he didn’t want to see that it’s really not that easy. That they can’t fix everything just like that.

“Shit,” he says. “People like Smithers are only the tip of the Iceberg.”

“Which brings us back to the initial question. How can we love a place like that?” She says, sounding both intrigued and angry.

“I don’t know. Let’s just avoid it. Think about it later. Do what we can in the meantime.”

She makes a sound somewhere between snort and chuckle, distorted by the speakers of the phone. “Alright. Great strategy. Do you have anything planned for New Year’s Eve?” she changes the conversation very subtly. Queen of communication right there.

After the phone call he finally writes that E-Mail to Professor Kralt concerning Smithers, even if he doesn’t think it will do anything. Still, collective action and all that. He has to do something at least. He calls some of his other friends to see how they are doing (“Fantastic.”, “Miserable.”, “Why are you calling me it’s in the middle of the night here!”, and so on) and they agree to meet up around New Year’s Eve.

He travels back one day before the New Year Celebration, in his bag a wooden figurine of an owl, two new books, his mother’s special tea blend, a new sweater and a _wöörbook_. He is gonna miss the clear nightsky and the relaxed atmosphere and his family, of course, but he’s also looking forward to coming home again, to his friends and university, to the City he loves (and hates).

“[…] und thus, although we may not remember the war, we still carry its violent legacy with us. Trauma is a complicated thing, and often, it can be inherited.”  
\- Page 23, “Victors” by James Cresta-Odair


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